Friendly Rivalry
by Advocate-No.267
Summary: Dusty Crophopper; a humble farm boy from the county town of Propwash Junction. Ripslinger; an egotistical racing sensation. Two very different racers who somehow manage to stand one another in their crazy world of racing and rivalry. (A collection of prompt-inspired oneshots. Humanised)
1. Mine

***Casually slides back into the Cars/Planes fandom* Hey, it's been a while :D**

 **I recently found some old Planes stories I started back in August last year and it restored my motivation for writing these characters. I started this new oneshot the other day after seeing this wonderful prompt and instantly thought of Dusty and Ripslinger. Since I've got alot of unfinished ideas for the WATG racers I've decided to put them all here.**

 **As a side note I want to point out that this is not intended to be Dusty/Ripslinger. I have nothing against the pairing (it's actually one of my guilty ships) but it isn't what I want to portray here. All relationships between the racers are strictly platonic unless stated otherwise. Also all the characters are humanised.**

 **Finally, Planes (C) Disney.**

* * *

 _Prompt: Imagine two characters with a height/size difference. Imagine person A borrowing person B's jacket/sweater. Person B asks for it back, and person B insists it was originally their own. Person B looks at the size tag and says "Then how come this is several sizes too big for you?"_

* * *

"Ay, crop duster!"

Dusty gulped. He froze mid-step, clutching the over-sized jacket tight around his body. A involuntary shiver ran up his spine.

Across the pits Ripslinger narrowed his eyes at his rival's back. Despite the shocking evening weather the racer stood decked in only his jeans, tank top and checker bandanna. His regular RPX racing jacket was discarded. A sly smirk twitched at the edge of his lips and he took a few steps towards the former-crop duster.

Dusty tried not to cave into himself. He refused to acknowledge the Rip's call and continued his journey towards his personal tent. A chilly breeze ruffled his orange locks, a stark contrast against the black jacket sheltering him from the cold. He quickened his pace against the one following him.

"Hey-!"

A sharp tug on the collar of the jacket brought him to a halt. Dusty went to quip a protest when a pair of teasing green eyes locked onto him. Ripslinger stepped from behind and grinned down at the shorter boy.

"I believe this doesn't belong to you." Two fingers tugged on the collar again and Dusty bit his tongue. He didn't look up, instead finding interest in a mark on the tarmac.

"Yes it does." His voice, despite being small, was laced with a undeniable certainty. Ripslinger's expression briefly turned annoyed before his smirk returned. His grip teased the collar once again.

"Oh really? Then why does it say Team RPX all over it?"

Dusty kept his mouth shut and his expression neutral. He wasn't going to give the other the pleasure of making him crack nor openly show his fondness for his temporary new covering. Ripslingers gaze held a sly note.

"Plus," the collar of the jacket was pulled up to revel the inner tag. "How come this is several sizes too big for you?"

It was a valid point. Ripslinger was satisfied to see a pinkish hue spread across the other's cheeks. _Gotcha._

Yet Dusty managed to quickly swallow his nerves. He merely ruffled the jacket with no traces of tension.

"Maybe I like my clothes roomy."

Not a compleat lie. It was partially the reason why he refused to part with his new covering. That, and the jacket's evasive smell. Fresh and tangy; just like Ripslinger's designer cologne.

The smart answer did nothing to sway Ripslinger's cold stare. He crossed his arms moodily, foot tapping impatiently against the tarmac.

"C'mon farmer, gimme the dumb jacket back. I'm freezing."

"No."

"Farm boy!"

"No."

"It's not my fault you forgot to bring a godamn jacket to Europe."

"You gave it to me out of the goodness of your own heart."

"Because you were gonna to die of hypothermia, you idiot."

"Ah, so Ripslinger does care about someone other than himself."

Ripslinger growled in exasperation. By now his own face was flushed both with frustration and a hint of abashment. He was glad all the other racers were safely out of earshot, unable to see the two bickering ceaselessly over an article of clothing. He eased back and attempted to reason with the stubborn racer.

"Look, I'm sure one of the other teams have jackets to spare. Go steal their clothing."

"I'd rather not."

"Why?"

"Because I like this one."

" _Why_?"

"Because it's yours."

"Ooooh so that's what all this is all about. You know what, fine!" Ripslinger threw his arms up and turned on his heel. He began marching back towards the building which held the racers' sleeping quarters.

"You can keep the jacket. Sleep in it for all I care! Just don't wear it around the others."

Dusty gave a small smile as Rip disappeared into the shadow of the building. He pulled the jacket's collar around his neck and cheerfully bounced towards his tent.

 _Farm boy, 1_

 _Ripstinker, 0_

* * *

The next morning Dusty awoke bright and early to another chilly European day. He shrugged off his pyjamas (which were white and blue with little wrenches printed all over the pants) and changed swiftly into his flight gear. Without thinking he tossed on Ripslinger's jacket and made his way out into the fresh morning air.

What awaited him in the pits was not something he expected.

"But _boss..."_

"No buts. You two are happy enough sharing a bed so you can share clothes. Think of it as your 'get along' jacket."

Dusty fought back a giggle at the scene that faced him. In the absence of his own jacket Ripslinger had pinched one off his cronies. Ned and Zed, both pouting profoundly, had been forced to share a small white and green racing jacket with '0' written on the back. Each twin had one arm stuck through a sleeve, leaving them uncomfortably pressed against each other.

Meanwhile Ripslinger stood stiffly modelling his own newest fashion trend. Due to Zed's small height stature in comparison to his leader the jacket's sleeves only just reached his elbows. Even unzipped it clung uncomfortably to his toned figure, the bottom barely brushing his waist.

Ripslinger noticed the bright-eyed racer and let out a strangled huff. He attempted to pull the jacket down, a futile effort to conceal the last strands of his dignity. A sour look that screamed "I hate you" was sent in Dusty's direction.

Dusty could only offer a angelic smile in return.

"I think it suits you."

* * *

 **Height headcannons: I imagine Ripslinger to be pretty tall, like 6 '5'' or something, with a toned physic. Dusty is a lot shorter (5'5'') and more scrawny. Ned and Zed are even shorter (5'2')' and a bit chunkier (Ned slightly more so than Zed).**


	2. Awkward Autographs

**This one isn't inspired by an actual prompt, it's more of what I think happened later after the events of the WATG.**

* * *

To say the least, Ripslinger was surprised to find a letter dropped into his mailbox from his racing rival Dusty Crophopper. He was even more perplexed to find that it wasn't a hospital bill, but in fact a formal invite to a party in the country town of Propwash Junction.

Honestly after what he pulled during the most recent Wings Around the Globe Rally Rip expected Dusty to hate his guts. Heck, the kid probably did, though Ripslinger couldn't blame him; he'd harbour the same ill feelings if somebody did the same to him.

Dottie shared a similar viewpoint. She was more than a little shocked to find her friend had invited the very racer who had tried to brutally injure him along to his victory celebration. Wiley old Skipper knew better though. Dusty may be young and (though the crop duster refused to admit it) hopelessly naive, but you couldn't doubt the respect he held for his fellow competitors. That was the reason he was organising this party in the first place. After a successful first season following his WATG win Dusty had thought it would be fun to throw a little get-together in his hometown for all his new friends and rivals. A sort of informal end to an eventful season.

The rest of Propwash were all in favour of this idea. Not only would the party be open to the public but the influx of famous racers would defiantly boost the town's tourist population for a short while (bringing in much-appreciated income for the various small businesses). The event wasn't too difficult to arrange either. The party would be held in Honker's Bar, where the skilled bartenders would handle the all important food and drink. Chug and Sparkly had already taken it upon themselves to organise music and decorations so now all Dusty had to worry about was the invites.

That was where things started to get complicated. Dusty did his best to skirt the issue, simply writing out a polite message and discreetly mailing it off to Team RPX headquarters.

When Dusty's team of friends discovered that a certain green-suited racer would possibly make an appearance they were wholly opposed to the idea of that 'jerk-faced scoundrel' (to use Dottie's words) setting foot anywhere near their home.

Dusty did his best to sooth their concerns. He, while personally still a little sore about the almost-drowning incident, had for the most part decided to put it in the past. Yes, it had been mean and uncalled for but there was no use holding grudges that will lead to nothing. Karma would came back to bite Rip in the tail fin eventually.

Besides, Dusty knew deep down there was no way he could invite everyone else and leave Team RPX out. Even if they refused to come, at least he had made a sporting effort. For this Skipper couldn't have been prouder of his little trainee. Common curtsy was somewhat lacking among the skies these days. That didn't mean he thought any better of the egotistical racer, if Skipper got the chance he'd certainly give Rip a good tongue lashing, but if Dusty was able to forgive him, then the veteran could too. Granted Rip and his cronies behaved while staying in their town.

After giving the matter a little thought Ripslinger was quick to dismiss the invite. It was just a lame party out in the middle of nowhere. What would he benefit from it? They were only going to be celebrating the one who stole his precious title. Plus El Chu, Bulldog, and all the other racers where going to be there- people Rip had been doing his utmost to avoid. It would be a complete waste of time and travel expenses.

Yet Ned and Zed, the twin pains of his existence, seemed to think otherwise. Upon finding the invite hidden beside Ripslinger's fridge the twin turbos immediately began begging their leader to go. Rip did his best to put his foot down, he really did, but it was amazing how persuasive two hysterical boys hugging your ankles could be.

So that was how two weeks later, somewhat hesitantly, Ripslinger found himself landing along Propwash Junction's recently-renovated airstrip.

It was a foreign feeling for him, flying into such a rural town. There was no fanfare, no photographers, just good honest folk going about their business. Not exactly something he experienced on a regular basis.

Rip and his team arrived just after 12:00 pm on the day before the party. Upon parking their planes the twin turbos promptly popped off to scour some lunch while Ripslinger hunted around for Dusty.

It wasn't exactly something he wanted to do, he'd been avoiding this moment since the end of the WATG, but Ripslinger knew it was best to get all unpleasantness over and done with. He wasn't going to apologise, not for all the sponsorship in the world, but confronting his rival now would eliminate the need to deal with any awkwardness later.

That was, if he could find the dumb farm boy.

He checked around the airstrip, the Fill 'N' Fly (being careful to evade catching the eyes of Dusty's fierce little mechanic while doing so) and even the local fire station to no result. Starting to get annoyed with his rival's hiding Ripslinger finally found some help from a friendly little man topping up a few fuel cans.

"You looking for Dusty?" The man, who Rip had heard was called Sparky, piped up. "He's in his hanger studying some of Skipper's old logs."

Perfect.

Shooting the guy a curt nod in thanks Ripslinger hurried off to the hanger in question. It wasn't particularly flashy but it was easy enough to find which building belonged to the young racer.

The doors were wide open and Rip swaggered strait in, giving a mocking "knock knock, farm boy" as he entered. Dusty was sat on the floor among a pile of boxes, head buried in a thick leather-bound war journal. He looked up, eyes widening. After his surprise subsided Dusty offered a polite smile in greeting.

"Heya Rip! Nice to see you stop by for a visit. What's the occasion, is there a photography convention in town?"

"Nah, I heard some hot shot rookie decided to throw a little get-together and I thought I'd give the guests a real racer to marvel at." Ripslinger returned his grin and crossed his arms, leaning coolly against the nearest wall. It was nice to swap a bit of friendly banter with his rival in a non-racing environment. He was silently relived to see Dusty didn't appear at all bitter about their previous encounters. But then that was Dusty for you; always looking forward, never looking back.

As Dusty packed his book away Ripslinger gave the hanger a nosy once-over.

It was a nice little set up, nowhere near as big or high tech as his own, but it had a homey feel to it. In the centre stood Dusty's now-famed crop-duster plane, still fitted with the Skyslicer mark 5, Rip noted. Along with his plane Dusty's own possessions were scattered about the place. Colourful posters and maps lined the grey walls, most displaying the Jolly Wrenches or some other racing plane in flight. A desk was set up against the far wall too, the surface littered with various books and sketches. What caught Ripslinger's eye however was the extensive collection of racing merchandise arranged neatly in one corner. He was tickled to find some of his own merch placed among the shelves.

Rip grinned and strutted over to the display. He plucked a small model Green Tornado off the shelf and turned it around in his palm. "Nice collection you've got here, Rusty. Want me to sign some of these for ya?"

Dusty, previously fighting to shove the journal into an already-overflowing box, noticed what his rival was holding and flushed slightly. He'd been meaning to pack some of that stuff away recently at Skipper's suggestion yet some how 'forgot' every time he came into the hanger. Now his biggest rival knew about his collection. Wonderful.

Dusty fumbled with his scarf and attempted to play it off. "Uh, yeah that's...my uh, I was given...I swear I'm not-"

"Actually that would be very kind of you, Rip." An older voice spoke up and the two turned to find Skipper standing in the doorway. The veteran had his hands behind his back and that mischievous glint in his eye that told he was up to something. "Dusty's been a big fan of yours for a quite a while now. I'm sure he'd love to own a bit of merchandise that's been signed by the man himself."

"Wha-? _Skipper_!" Dusty whined. Ripslinger knowing about his little secret was bad enough; Skipper's suggestion was downright mortifying. Why was his mentor choosing to embarrass him now? Didn't he know this would only fuel Ripslinger's already insufferable ego?

Skipper ignored his charge's protests and took a few steps closer to the shelf. He unpinned a small poster featuring Ripslinger's signature plane and held it out for the racer to take.

Rip smirked as he took the item. He pulled out the black marker he always kept with him and popped off the cap. He shot a teasing glance at Dusty. "So who am I making this one out too?"

Dusty slapped a hand over his face. "You _really_ don't have to-"

"To Dusty Crophopper," Skipper cut him off. "I'm very sorry for being an intolerable douchebag, please accept this autograph as a token of apology. Lots of love, Ripstinker."

"Alrighty, 'To Dusty Crophopper, I'm very-hey!" Ripslinger's cocky demeanour faltered, evaporating into defensiveness. He glared at the smirking veteran. Dusty's previous resentment faded as he began to catch onto Skipper's plan. He giggled and nudged Ripslinger playfully.

"C'mon Rip, you gonna sign it or not? Wouldn't want to disappoint one of your _biggest_ fans, would you?" He tugged on the taller racer's sleeve with his best puppy-eyed expression.

Ripslinger grit his teeth. As self-absorbed as he was the he found it impossible to turn down a fan when it came to promoting his image. He was too much of an attention whore to let such opportunities go to waste. So under the watchful eyes of Skipper Ripslinger reluctantly made out the autograph, signing it exactly to the veteran's request. He thrust the finished product roughly into Dusty's hands.

"There. Happy now?"

"Aww," Dusty laughed, holding the poster out to admire it. "You know I think I'm going to frame this and put it up in the Fill 'N' Fly. Then everyone will see what such a good sport Ripslinger is."

Skipper joined in the good natured baiting while Ripslinger grumbled something incoherent. The whole sewage-sludge-Ripstinker fiasco was still a sore subject for the proud racer. It went unknown to most but that little mess-up was a bigger blow to the ego than Rip outwardly showed. It took Ned and Zed weeks to get their leader to show his face to the media again without blowing a gasket, and that was only after every last dirt-stain had been scrubbed from his precious plane and clothing. Needless to say it wasn't something he liked brought up in front of anyone but his teammates.

"Hey Rip, you okay there?" Dusty picked up on his rival's sudden discomfort and tried to stifled his laughter. He tipped his head to one side, blinking innocently. "You're looking kinda flustered."

Ripslinger grunted. In an attempt to uphold his reputation he pulled his black and green checker bandanna over his face, cloaking his growing blush. It was a juvenile habit he picked up in his teens that he never could shake. "Shut _up_ farm boy."

Then to Ripslinger's _absolute_ pleasure Ned and Zed chose that untimely moment to turn up. With their stomachs' satisfied by Dottie's handmade sandwiches the twin turbos had quit pestering the mechanic and left to see if their leader had checked into the motel yet.

"Hey boss, what time will the room be ready 'cause Zed's gotta- whoa, what did you do to him?" Ned paused in the entrance while Zed skipped cheerfully up to his boss. He attempted to pull down Ripslinger's bandanna, only to get swatted in return.

"Back off moron!"

Dusty gave a wry smile in reply to Ned's question. "Skipper asked him to sign a poster for me but he started getting touchy when the topic of 'the incident' came up."

"I guess he learnt a bit of modesty." Skipper added as the twins 'ooh-ed' in understanding.

Dusty turned back to Ripslinger, fixing him with a genuinely confused look. "Why are you hiding your face anyway?"

Ripslinger scoffed. "It's that damn fertiliser stuff you farm folk use around here, it reeks."

"You sure? Because your ears are going red."

"Ffffttt."

"Heheh," Ned and Zed giggled in sinc. Zed reached up and patted the taller racer's head. "He does that whenever he gets flustered or embarrassed. It's his way of conserving his manly pride."

"He lost that when you lot decided to act like five-year-olds and play dirty when things didn't go your way." Skipper scolded the boys. His previous amusement was replaced with slight distaste. "If you dealt with the situation like mature adults then I'm sure Rip could have avoided his little accident and Dusty wouldn't have almost died out in the middle of the ocean."

"That's not true!" Ned countered, pulling himself up to his (not that impressive) full height. "We're totally mature."

"Uh-huh. I learnt to tie my shoes laces just the other day." Zed added in with a proud smile.

Ripslinger groaned into the checked material. It was bad enough to have to put up with these Propwash folks joking about his delicate subject, now he had to deal with being chided like a naughty school child too. Ned and Zed weren't exactly helping the situation either...

The twins continued with their alternate conversation, their voices pitching higher and higher with each sentence.

"If we weren't mature then how come we all came along to your back-water party when we could have ignored the invite altogether?"

"Yeah, it took all our effort to get the boss here."

"He didn't want to come here because he's afraid of what you lot would do to him. Plus he's too much of a scaredy baby to say sorry."

Ripslinger's eyes bulged. "ZED!"

"What? You know it's true."

As Rip sunk further into the pool of humiliation Dusty and Skipper were watching the exchange with renewed interest. Ripslinger? Afraid to come? That was new. Though it really shouldn't come as a surprise, considering Dottie and Skipper's earlier threats. Still, it wasn't something Dusty was expecting. It might be too much to hope for, but maybe there was a slither of regret in that twisted heart of his. Or maybe he was just another puffed up coward. Dusty made to inquire this notion but Ripslinger beat him too it.

"You-just-whatever!" At that last remark Ripslinger's pent up frustration boiled over in a stuttered mess. He shot a seething look towards Dusty. "I'm going to book into the motel. Catch you _later_ Flyboy." With a last moody flick of his hair Ripslinger stormed out of the hanger, his sniggering entourage in tow.

Skipper huffed once he was out of earshot. "Hmm, that went better than expected."

"Uh, yeah," Dusty nodded stiffly. He was still clutching the poster to his chest. "Though I can't help but feel kind of bad. I didn't mean to wind him up like that. I know he's a jerk but he suffered enough at the end of the last rally."

"Not as much as the rest of us did while you were flying blind over the Atlantic." Skipper folded his arms, appearing satisfied. "Let the boy simmer. Might do him some good."

Dusty sighed and decided to let it drop. He made a mental note to speak to Rip later, maybe try and smooth out their differences over a friendly drink. His attention returned to the poster that had been forced into his grip. If this was the closest thing he'd get to an actual apology then he was going to savour it.

Dusty ambled back over to the corner and hopped up onto a box, returning the picture to it's previous place above the shelf. Skipper eyed the collection sceptically.

"Rip was right when he said you had quite the collection. Might I ask why you still keep all this stuff?"

Dusty stumbled off the box, the question having caught him unaware. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, uh, with all the racing and stuff I never got the chance to pack it up. I-I'll do it soon, I promise."

"Hmm." Skipper didn't look convinced. Despite being one of them now he had a feeling Dusty had never truly let go of his admiration for the other racers. He sighed inwardly. They're like polar opposites. One's an egomaniac and one's too modest for his own good.

Skipper shook his head. There was no harm in letting Dusty keep hold of his little trinkets. He'd just have to give his young recruit a firm reminder of _Volo Pro Veritas_ later.

The veteran made to leave the hanger, intending to catch a quick nap before their later flying session. He made it two feet outside before a shy voice stopped him.

"Hey, um, Skipper?"

"Ya?" Skip paused in the doorway. Dusty grinned down at his feet.

"At the party tomorrow night...you're not gonna re-consider getting out the old hula skirt are you?"

Skipper scoffed, leaving without looking back. "Not on your life, kid."

* * *

Ripslinger groaned at the watery sunlight filtering through the thin curtains.

He rose groggily from the motel bed, blinking around the room. The racer was briefly confused as to the absence of green and black decor before remembering that this wasn't his room back at his parents' estate. Rip felt a slither of disappointment, which then rose into annoyance. He remembered his encounter yesterday, and how after witch he'd promptly locked himself in the motel room. Ned and Zed had stayed out to cause mischief, leaving the racer to simmer down in his own time. It was apparent the two had been busy since they were still sleeping soundly in the other double bed in the room.

Well...sleeping. Soundly wasn't exactly what you'd call the snoring mess of sheets and limbs that twitched every so often.

Ripslinger let them be. For now, at least, he didn't need the pair twittering in his ear. He turned to his phone, giving the home button a clumsy tap. An familiar photo lit up his face. It was a silly image, a selfie that Ned and Zed had accidentally photo-bombed. The twins had set it as his lockscreen and the racer had been too lazy to change it.

His tired eyes scanned over the time display and Rip almost dropped the phone.

"Ugh, really?"

Seven. Freaking. am.

Now, this may not sound so early but for a racer who is used to sleeping in until noon on his rare off days this was a slight annoyance. Ripslinger spend the next few minutes trying fitfully to get back to sleep. Define, 'trying'. There was too much noise outside; birds, towns people calling to each other, motors running...it was a downright ruckus!

When that failed Rip took to laying on his back, going over his thoughts, in particular those related to a certain _former_ -cropduster. Maybe tonight he could slip something into his drink...or trip him over when he wasn't looking...or flirt obnoxiously with that Indian racer the kid was obviously smitten with...

A knock at the door broke him out of his vengeful musing.

"Damnit." Rip cursed. He kicked the covers off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "This had better not be a silly prank."

He didn't bother to dress properly, instead roughly pulling on a pair of jeans and a unbuttoned shirt before yanking the door open. He popped his head out, expecting to be met with the sickly innocent smile of his rival.

"The hell do you want, rusty?"

...Who was non existent.

There was nothing there except a small brown envelope. It was left conspicuously on the door mat, Ripslinger's name penned neatly on the front. Curious, Ripslinger picked it up and tore the top off. Inside was a photo of Dusty crossing the finish line at the last rally.

 _The heck is he playing at?_

Rip's scowl didn't lift as he flipped the photo over. A short note was scrawled on the back.

 _Dear Ripstinker_

 _As you were so kind to sign that poster for me yesterday I thought I'd return the favour. Sorry about Skipper's behaviour but I gotta say, you had that one coming. If you want to get even then meet me near the water tower at noon for a little rematch. A lap around the cornfields should do the trick- if you're up for it._

 _See you there!_

 _From Farm Boy x (Dusty)_

Ripslinger stared blankly at the note. He read it once, twice, then a third time just to make sure he was processing the information right. His eyes briefly flicked to across the field.

"The water tower at noon, huh?"

A slow grin grew on Ripslinger's face. He folded the photo, tucking it safely in his pocket. Yep, he was going to get even alright. That crop duster was _soooo_ going for a dunk in the lake.

* * *

 **I have to say it, Ripslinger is SO fun to write. He's like Sonic with 10x more attitude. Also Dusty is an innocent child and Skipper is a sassy sir. Sorry if this seemed a bit out of character, I have a ton of headcannons about these characters and they tend to effect how I right them. Despite this I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

 **Also I want to say thank you for everyone who's followed/added to favourites/reviewed this story. It means alot that people enjoy my nonsense ^^**


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